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Text messages from that night I panicked before a presentation at work. Typed out recordings of when he sent voice notes instead of texts because he said my brain didn’t need more reading.

One message is a picture, beneath it is a Post-it that has a pink highlighter slash across it:

"Exhibit 1: Your smile when you cleaned me out at poker night. Confirmed lethal."

I let out a broken laugh. "Idiot."

Another page has a photo I didn’t even know he took. Me asleep on his couch, a highlighter cap stuck in my hair and notes scattered all over my chest. A Post-it is stuck to the top of the image:

"Exhibit 7: You, asleep on my couch with highlighter ink on your cheek. Confirmed adorable."

I cover my mouth with my hand, but it doesn’t stop the soft gasp from escaping. Tucked between the last pages are clippings from our weekend getaway: receipts from the little coffee shop where I spilled hot chocolate on his jeans, the map from our motorcycle ride to the scenic overlook, and the label from the bottle of wine we shared at the firepit, late into the night.

There’s even a sketch he made, just a doodle of the kitchen counter where we’d started fooling around, before we made love for the first time. I trace my fingers over them, stunned. The fact that he kept these hits like a punch to the heart. I don’t know whether to cry or smile, so I do both.

There are more notes, more tiny captions in his handwriting, that charming all-caps scrawl I’ve memorized from the sticky notes he left on water bottles and snack bags.

"Exhibit 12: You make my place feel like a home. That should be illegal."

"Exhibit 15: You call me on my shit. That’s love in a court of law."

The last page is a sticky note, centered like a verdict:

"Case Summary: Falling for you was never a debate. It was a ruling."

My hand is shaking now.

There’s a second envelope under the folder labeled:

"Bar Exam Survival Kit"

I almost laugh. Almost. But the tears threaten first.

Inside:

A stress ball shaped like a gavel.

A small tin of mints labeled “Exhibit Breathe."

A playlist code scribbled on a card:"Spotify – "Study Like a Badass" – scan to play.

A black and gold pen engraved with "You’ve Got This."